Murder on the Oregon Express

by Samantha Silver

  “What was that?” I asked. “How did that even happen?”

  Cat peered over the edge into the giant hole, then pointed at it and a minute later it closed again, enclosing the boulders inside of it, making the hallway look exactly like it had a moment before an avalanche of rocks had tried to kill us.

  “I think Alexis Juneau didn’t necessarily trust human alarm systems, and so she installed her own,” Sophie replied, glancing at the office door.

  “So, what do we do now?” I asked. “We obviously can’t get in there.”

  “Well, we know she put the spell on the lock. I wonder if she did the same for the glass window.”

  I groaned. “Really?”

  “Well at least this time, if we hear the sounds, we know what’s coming.”

  “Great,” I muttered, and Cat laughed.

  “Don’t worry,” she replied. “I can check and see if there’s been a spell put on this window.” She pointed her finger to the window, but nothing happened. Cat nodded, satisfied. “Good. If there had been any kind of curse or spell put on the window it would have glowed pink.”

  She pointed again and the glass suddenly slipped out from the window. Cat pointed toward the wall, and the pane of glass carefully placed itself on the floor against it. Turning to me and grinning, Cat climbed through the large hole in the window, and I followed somewhat inelegantly after her.

  After our adventure with the boulders my senses were on high alert for anything out of the ordinary. After all, if a fireball was going to shoot toward us, I wanted to be prepared. But, as we made our way through the empty office, it seemed that Alexis Juneau had figured protecting the door latch was enough.

  Cat pointed to the window, where a blackout curtain suddenly appeared out of nowhere over the blinds, and then turned on the light so we could see better. The office was minimalist and tidy, with a single large, mahogany desk near the window, and a large number of white metal filing cabinets against the white walls. A large monitor sat on the desk, along with a plain legal pad, four pens and a phone. There was nothing else on the desk. I had to admit, I was impressed; I was the kind of person for whom seeing any part of the desk at all could be considered a victory.

  Cat made her way toward the cabinets as I sat down on the chair behind the desk and turned on the computer. I wasn’t sure why; I figured maybe technology was less likely to have a spell put on it. I figured there wasn’t much logic to that, but seeing as I’d just about been killed by magic a few times the last couple of days, I was pretty happy to avoid it while Cat and I continued to commit a felony.

  Just then I realized that my fingerprints were going to be all over the computer keyboard if I started typing on it. I did use my own magic, but only to conjure up a pair of thin gloves. I used them to wipe my prints off the computer’s power button just as the login screen appeared.

  “Hey Cat?” I asked.

  “Yup?” she said, pulling files from one of the cabinets. Evidently, they hadn’t been protected by magic either.

  “Is there a way to magic your way into knowing someone’s computer password?”

  Cat grinned.

  “Sure there is,” she said. “You have to use more abstract magic though, you have to will the computer to reveal its secrets to you.”

  Cat closed her eyes and pointed at the computer. Suddenly, the password appeared in the air above the computer for a minute, the letters and numbers floating calmly in the air: ironman7324

  “Ironman?” I asked, my eyebrows rising. Sure, I didn’t know Alexis, but given the state of her office–fine, and the fact that she was an accountant–hadn’t exactly left me picturing her as being a fan of superhero movies.

  Cat shrugged. “It makes a great password, no one would ever guess an accountant to like cool things, I guess.”

  I laughed as I typed in the password, and sure enough, a moment later the Windows desktop appeared. Cat went back to searching the paper files while I tried to figure out what program might be most commonly used by an accountant. After about five minutes I’d not only found the program, but managed to open the entire contents of the file.

  “Hey Cat, I got all the info here,” I told her, and she came straight over. Pulling a USB stick from her pocket, she slipped it into the computer and I copied the files over. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  After the files were copied, Cat and I still decided to have a quick look. Even at a glance, it was obvious that Sapphire Adventure Tours wasn’t exactly raking in the dough. They were bringing in a ton of money–almost $2.5 million the year before–but their expenses were so high that in the end they were left with just a little over $20,000 in profit.

  “Yikes,” I said when I saw the figures, and Cat nodded.

  “Yeah, that’s not good for sure.”

  “Still, do you really kill your business partner over the fact that your business sucks?” I asked.

  “You do if you think he’s the reason it sucks. I’d kill you for two and a half mill a year.”

  I stuck my tongue out at Cat. “Come on, let’s get out of here before we accidentally trigger another booby trap. I feel like we’re in an urban, boring version of an Indiana Jones movie.”

  Cat laughed as she put the files she’d been looking through away; we didn’t need them now that we had the digital version on her thumb drive. “Ok, you’re right. Let’s go.”

  I turned off the computer and we climbed back out through the window. Cat used her magic to put the window back into place, and it was like we were never there. As we slipped back out into the streets of Sapphire Village, with the USB stick containing all of the files pertaining to the company safely in my possession (Cat had insisted I take it, since I would have more opportunity to look through it thoroughly). By the time we got back to the bookshop, my heartbeat was dropping back down to something more resembling normal.

  That was when I realized it was just after six in the morning, and I had four hours to nap before I had to open the store for the day. Great. Today was definitely going to be fueled by coffee.

  Eight

  I didn’t even bother going up to my apartment to sleep; I just lay down on one of the comfortable couches I’d set up for potential browsers, set my alarm for fifteen minutes before I had to open the store, and immediately fell asleep. When my alarm went off once more I certainly didn’t feel rested, but I also didn’t feel like a zombie, either.

  Dragging myself off the couch I wandered down to Cat’s Cupcakes, which had now been open for almost two hours. When I walked in the tables were already packed, and Maddie, Cat’s awesome employee, was busy working the till while another employee made coffee. Cat was standing toward the door leading into the kitchen, sipping a coffee like her life depended on it. She grinned when she saw me.

  “You didn’t brush your hair before coming here, did you?”

  “Ohh, great,” I moaned, running my hand over my locks, which were obviously sticking out everywhere. I’d completely forgotten to run a brush through it, or even look in the mirror before going out in public.

  “So, you’re obviously going to order coffee then,” Maddie said to me cheerfully, and I nodded glumly.

  “Yes, please. Double shot vanilla latte.”

  “Good call on the double shot,” Cat said from her spot against the far wall. “I’ll be by later today if I can to look at that stuff we got last night,” she said.

  “Sure,” I said. “Pop by anytime. There’s no guarantee I’ll actually be awake though, I’m warning you.”

  “Fair enough,” Cat laughed as I ordered a cookies and cream cupcake, complete with cookie dough chunks on top of the frosting. Yum!

  Five minutes later I had my coffee, my cupcake in a to-go box, and was making my way back into the bookshop. A part of me hoped there weren’t really going to be any customers today. The coffee was helping, but I’d only been half kidding when I told Cat she might find me asleep in the shop.

  Archibald apparently decided he wasn’t going to hang
out in the bookshop today, as there had been no sign of him all morning. Muffin, on the other hand, walked in while purring loudly before settling himself on the computer I’d just turned on, the heat evidently winning out over his favorite bean bag chair.

  I took out the USB stick containing all the files that we’d taken last night and plugged it into the computer as soon as it turned on. Unlike the last few days, this morning was a little bit grey and drizzly; I imagined my odds of actually getting a customer during shoulder season with weather like this were pretty low.

  Sipping at my coffee–and being extra thankful that I’d decided to go for the double shot–I began to look through the records from Sapphire Adventure Tours in more detail.

  For the first ten minutes or so, I found myself staring into space constantly. But once the caffeine kicked in and my brain began to function, I started to actually enjoy the work. Of course, it helped that I was pretending that I was the star of one of those TV shows where the investigator on their computer uses her fancy hacking tricks to figure out who committed the crime, and then gets a whole bunch of accolades from the rest of her team.

  Ok, maybe I was getting just a little bit delirious from lack of sleep. Just as I was finally starting to get into a rhythm as I looked over the company’s income sources from the past year–almost all of it came from credit cards–a woman who looked vaguely familiar walked into the store.

  “Hi,” I greeted her warmly. “Welcome to Magical Books. Can I help you find anything today?”

  “Thank you so much, but I’m actually here to help you,” the woman said, striding confidently past the books and to the counter where I was sitting. She was tall, with blonde hair that I wasn’t one hundred percent sure came from a bottle, and energetic blue eyes. Suddenly, I realized where I’d seen her; she had been on the Oregon Express when Brian was murdered. The woman with the husband, and I’d seen her around town once or twice as well.

  “Oh!” I said as I made the realization. “You were on the train too.”

  “Ah,” the woman replied, nodding. “I was, yes. So were you, you were with Cat. You’re her cousin, Alice, right?” I nodded confirmation as the woman handed me a business card. “Dana Gunter. I’m with Sapphire Digital Solutions, a social media marketing firm based here in town.”

  “Oh,” I said, a little bit confused.

  “I know you just took over this lovely shop from your aunt, and I saw that you’ve already made some really nice changes to the place.”

  “Thank you,” I said, not entirely sure why Dana was here.

  “Now, it would be a shame if no one ever saw these awesome changes. That’s where we come in. At Sapphire Digital Solutions we offer packages to allow businesses of any size to grow via social media marketing. We’re from the same generation; I’m sure you know just how much time we spend on our phones these days.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I replied.

  “Well, why not use that to your advantage? Do you have a Facebook page for the store yet?”

  Did Francine have a Facebook page? If so, I hadn’t seen any mention of it.

  “Ummm, I don’t think so,” I replied. “I’m really not sure.”

  “Well, you need a Facebook page, for sure. With a Facebook page you can reach thousands of potential visitors to Sapphire Village and convince them that they need to come visit this store.”

  “Well, to be totally honest, I’m kind of just getting used to things, and how they work,” I told Dana. She seemed nice, and genuine, and enthusiastic about the company she worked for. Very enthusiastic. “I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with things like a Facebook page and social media when I’m still not one hundred percent sure how the point-of-sale system works.”

  “Sure, of course I totally understand,” Dana said with an easy smile. “That’s part of what makes our service so cool, is you don’t need to worry about actually doing any of that stuff. We take care of all of it for you, so you can focus on running your business.”

  “Do you have an information packet or something?” I asked. “I’m afraid I can’t commit to anything right now, but when things get settled in a bit I might consider it,” I told her. In reality, I wasn’t really considering it. I could run a Facebook page myself, and I honestly wasn’t sure if it would bring me that many more customers, but I also didn’t want to seem rude.

  “Of course, Alice. Here you go. This brochure outlines our most popular packages. For a store like yours, I’d go with number 3 if I were you. I’ll let you get on with your day, and I’ll drop by again when things are a little bit more settled for you.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, and just like that, Dana was gone. I blinked a couple of times to make sure I hadn’t just imagined the whole conversation, but sure enough I was still holding her business card. Social media marketing managers. The more time I spent running the bookshop, the more I realized just how much went into running a business, rather than simply pouring lattes for people like I used to do.

  Sometimes it felt overwhelming, like I was never going to get used to it. I put the business card to one side, making a mental note to ask Cat about the company. Since my cousin was local, and a business owner herself, I imagined she’d have all the lowdown on Dana and Sapphire Digital Solutions.

  Still, a little bit of curiosity piqued my interest and I opened the brochure Dana had handed me and had a look at what the package number three that she had recommended was. Package number three was titled “The Niche Store package”. It included a Facebook page, an Instagram account, and a Twitter account. The company’s “social media gurus” would post four updates a month, featuring photos of my store and its wares, which they would come by and take with their professional photography equipment. They would also do a basic search engine optimization treatment to ensure my company’s website was on the first page of Google.

  I smiled to myself as I read that; I was fairly certain Aunt Francine hadn’t even built a website for Magical Books. I made a mental note not to tell Dana; I imagined she would try to sell me a website design by her company as well.

  Boy, this whole running-a-business thing was more complicated than I could have ever imagined.

  Before I got a chance to get my head around the whole conversation that had just happened, my first customer of the day walked in. A nice-looking woman in her mid-twenties, with brown hair and a kind smile, she looked shyly around the store when she walked in.

  “Hi there, welcome. Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked.

  “This store is amazing!” the woman gushed immediately. “My mom was here last year and told me about this place, she said if I was ever in Sapphire Village I absolutely needed to come here, and she was right,” the woman said, making her way toward the books and looking at them reverently.

  “Well, make yourself at home,” I said, motioning around to the chairs that were scattered through the room. Luckily, Muffin was still sleeping on the warm computer, rather than occupying the beanbag chair as he usually did.

  “Thank you,” the girl replied. “Sadly, I have to meet a friend for lunch. I am definitely going to buy something though. Do you have anything by the old Romantic poets? I do love Keats and Lord Byron.”

  Suddenly, Archibald’s semi-opaque form appeared just above us.

  “Are you joking?” he asked my customer scornfully. “Byron was a plagiarist and a buffoon. The man didn’t have a single literary bone in his body.”

  I tried not to smile as I listened to the shop ghost rant. Archibald had been a peer of Shelly, Keats and Byron, and he didn’t exactly get along with the latter two. He was convinced that She Walks in Beauty was a rip off from an unpublished poem of his own.

  “I do have some,” I told the woman, leading her to the shelf where I knew Francine had kept the poetry.

  “It is an insult to my name that this store carries the work of men whose moral character and writing skills were so poor,” Archibald continued. “An absolute insult.”

  Archibald�
�s outrage was pretty funny, but of course, I couldn’t let the woman I was helping know that there was a ghost in the shop who disagreed with her literary tastes.

  “This is fantastic,” the woman said, looking through some of the books in awe. “I majored in English literature at Harvard. I just graduated a few months ago, and this is the perfect graduation gift to myself. I’ll buy this one, thanks,” she said. I looked at the title of the book she’d chosen: The Ultimate Collection of the Works of Lord Byron. I smiled.

  “Great choice. Byron really is so popular these days.”

  “Yes, and for good reason. She Walks in Beauty is one of the greatest poems ever written.”

  The sound that came from Archibald’s mouth was more of a howl than anything human. He started ranting about Byron, and how the man stole a shilling from him when he was twenty-two, and how he stole the poem from Archibald, and a whole host of other things that I didn’t quite understand.

  I rang up the girl’s sale, thanked her, and she promised me she’d be back for more in a few days.

  “Are you done?” I asked Archibald when she left, my hands on my hips. A part of me had found his histrionics quite amusing, but now that he was just shouting practically incoherently it was giving me a headache more than anything.

  “The people of today! You understand not what greatness is, and you have been brainwashed by the popularity of a man who died hundreds of years ago. It is a travesty! It should be my name on those books! Mine!”

  “Well, unfortunately, history doesn’t often work that way,” I told Archibald. “I’m afraid your old nemesis is going down in history as one of the greatest poets ever.”

  “He was nothing more than a common thief, despite his title,” Archibald muttered. “I’m not going to let him get away with this,” he added, before suddenly disappearing. I briefly wondered where Archibald had gone to, and what his plan was. After all, there wasn’t very much a ghost who couldn’t touch anything and who could only speak to a tiny portion of the population could do.